


It Flows Like Molten Lava

by lextenou



Category: Totinos (Saturday Night Live Sketch)
Genre: F/F, Inspired by the Williams Sonoma Hater's Guide, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:26:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lextenou/pseuds/lextenou
Summary: Totino's Pizza Rolls: Its how boys help themselves.





	It Flows Like Molten Lava

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



The oven had been set to four hundred twenty five degrees what felt like ages ago. Distantly, the clamor of her hungry guys resounded through the living room, echoing off the cathedral ceiling her husband had insisted would retain their property value. The broad butcherblock island had done so much to convince her that this house would be their perfect home, and their upgrading of the oven to convection from standard had only sealed the deal. She still hated that carpet in the living room - the drab tan matched so well with her husband's khakis that it reminded her of how little effort he truly put in to maintaining their relationship any longer. 

It had been two - no, three - no, five? Too many years since he had stopped and made her feel attractive. She went to work, trudged through her time molding databases into their proper sanity and came home. Home, to this display room of Pottery Barn knock offs and Kirkland also-rans. Home, where the most interesting conversation they had was her husband asking "hey, babe, what's for dinner?"

Three years ago, when the Seahawks had spanked the Broncos, she had made a dip stadium that she'd seen in passing on Pinterest. Guacamole field, sour cream five yard lines - though not to scale, something that irked her still - pretzel field goals, Cheez-it and Ritz audiences in the stands. The Tostitos had been resting in the Sur La Table stoneware au gratin that matched perfectly with the stoneware four quart baker she had sacrificed to serve as the foundation for her stadium masterpiece. Her Le Creuset square baker had never recovered from the hot wings fiasco. 

She glanced at the television, her very limbs weighing her down heavily as she watched former President H. W. Bush toss the coin with a vigor that belied his recent bout of pneumonia. The man looked positively spry, unlike Luke Bryan's tepid performance of the National Anthem. Something about that man never looked right to her. Maybe it had been his simplistic hit, "Huntin', Fishin' and Lovin' Every Day" that had disenchanted her with his homespun Georgia charm. Maybe it had been his ruination of Travis Tritt. Tritt had never been the same after "Best of Intentions". 

She released a quiet sigh and turned back to the lowly beeping oven, ignoring Joe Buck's affected excitement at Gostkowski's kick. It was time to put the Totino's in the oven. 

"Babe! We need more Totino's! Dave just got here!"

Dave. Sweet, schlubby, hand wandering Dave. The jokester of the bunch, always passing off his vaguely uncomfortable jokes with a "just kidding!" or a ear splitting, overly boisterous laugh. One of her husband's favorite friends, never someone to worry about when he lingered outside the bathroom while she was in there. Never someone to say a word against when he stood too close. It was Dave! The party could start. 

The Totino's needed to go in.

Arranged in perfectly symmetrical rows, little pizza roll soldiers on the field of her Sur La Table Platinum Professional Half Sheet Pans. It still shone like the day she'd selected it from the endless rows of perfectly arranged bakeware, soft music piped into the atmosphere and the gentle scent of the Silpat baking mats in a perfect pyramid. She'd picked up an Emile Henry olive oil bottle during the same trip. It stood silent sentry next to the grapeseed oil. 

The Taylor Dual-Event Digital Timer was set. Now to wait for the rolls to heat. Two perfectly arranged pans, carrying the fruit of her efforts. 

This was what she had studied so hard for in school. This was why she had denied herself in college - no, she couldn't possibly take time from studying for a test that wasn't until the following week in order to see a workshop of Fun Home at the Ojai Playwrights Conference. It would have been impossible to take an afternoon from her class that had already been cancelled to go with Andie to see "Room in Rome". It didn't matter how close Andie had stood, one hand brushing gently against her own. It hadn't mattered how much those twinkling brown eyes had driven her to distraction. 

No. 

This is what she had worked for, and she had it. She had everything she was supposed to want and need. 

"Enough yapping! We need the Totino's! Ted's here too and he brought his sister!"

She glanced at her Taylor Dual-Event Digital Timer. Four minutes left. Plenty of time to greet her new guest, courtesy of Ted. Unassuming, gormless Ted as her husband called him. Willing to listen when she spoke, and let her finish before he started speaking. Always shoving the other guy's legs closed to force more room on the couch. Always giving Dave the side eye. Ted, the one with -

She turned and her pat, rehearsed greeting died in her throat. It was like being thrown back to her perpetually stuffy dorm room, with her prized poster of Rear Admiral Grace Hopper that she'd designed herself, and the door that always stuck when it rained. Back in that dorm room when Andie had stepped close, when Jane had reached out a hand to her, when Leigh had invited her to that mixer. 

But now she stood in the kitchen of the house purchased by her husband's father, down payment coming from his savings, the house he'd secured a three point seven five percent interest rate on for thirty years. She stood there, decked in Contempo Casual and Target, and stared, her mouth hanging open. 

Her hair was rough and wild, haloed around her head as though she'd just emerged from bed after a night of illicit passion. Artfully smudged eyeshadow highlighted the deep secrets held in those rich verdant eyes, framing that gaze which perfectly stated everything she could ever want or need. Those lips, parted slightly, what would they feel like -

No, she shouldn't.

Elegant fingers played idly with those mussed strands of hair, played and tangled with a knowledge that said she could know more. She could feel more. That she could feel at all, beneath the pads of those stuttering, distracting fingers. 

"Hi." 

That voice.

Warm and laced with all those hidden desires she'd never expressed, threaded through with more meaning than she'd ever dreamed could exist - how could such a voice be refused?

"I'm Sabine."

Her own voice was lost and she helplessly drank in the sight of this woman before her. With a rote mindlessness, a breathy tremor, she responded something, she knew not what. Probably her own name. Not that she knew. Some breathy platitudes emerged from her - inane, no doubt. So much of her existence anymore remained inane, remained shallow. Bought and paid for from compressed and marketed tastes. 

Not like this delectable woman before her. Not with that original jacket, tailored perfectly to those svelte hips. Not with that shirt that highlighted the wonder of her skin, and especially not with how those jeans clung snugly to her curves. She looked at Sabine, standing there in the kitchen shared with the shouting lummox on the couch, and felt a fraud. 

The years she'd spent hiding this flood of sheer want weighed down on her and she turned away, right as the timer sounded. Stammering, with fingers turned suddenly numb, she pulled the trays from the oven. The rolls laid askew, their innards erupting forth in a lurid display that bubbled and popped. Small bits of burned cheese littered the tray. 

She set the tray down, her hand trembling as she lowered the pot holder she'd used to guard her clumsy fingers. Delicate touch grazed against the back of her hand, Sabine's touch, and she raised her gaze to look into those questioning yet knowing eyes. "Th-they need to cool."

Sabine's fingers traced idly over the back of her hand, a gentle smile curving those teasing lips. "It wouldn't be good to get burned."

"No..." She leaned into Sabine, her mind awhirl with possibility, with half supressed memory of opportunitites for what could have been. "A-are you staying in town long?"

Sabine's smile widened, one hand sliding up her arm to curl around her forearm. Sabine stepped into her, the toe of one foot nudging against hers. "Just moved here a couple months ago."

"Oh." The soft exhalation barely sounded like her own voice. "I..." Whatever she'd been about to say was forgotten when Sabine's fingers brushed against the curve of her waist. She swallowed thickly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

She turned, her hand pressing against her chest. Here. Here was the excuse she'd needed. Here was everything she'd been struggling to deny, aching for but too scared to embrace. She inhaled deeply and turned her gaze to meet Sabine's. A slow smile spread across her face. 

She reached for the trays, dumping their bounty onto a platter. She cared not which. They wouldn't care either. She reached for the platter, her fingers curling around it and hefting its sturdy weight. Her free hand reached up, brushing over Sabine's cheek as she smiled, meeting the curious gaze with no further fear in her heart. 

"Wait for me." Sabine steped back, her well formed buttocks pressing against the sink, allowing her to slide past. She stepped forward into Sabine, pressing their torsos together. "I'll be right back."

Turning quickly, she deftly deposited the platter onto the coffee table, the gathered shouts that greeted the appearance of their promised snack not quite enough to distract from the game. She slid back, her lips curving into a smile. She turned her head and met Sabine's steady gaze. A quirk of her finger draw Sabine to her, following her down the hallway to the bedroom she had spent years sharing with her husband. 

She strode to the dresser, lifting the pen that laid on top and opening the folded papers that lay on top of the envelope. 

There in black and white, lay her absolution. As she read the paper that proclaimed that she had regained what she had once lost. Throughout, she had felt the caress of that heavy gaze on her skin, and she turned her head and grinned. 

"I think it's time for a party." She turned the paperwork, allowing Sabine to read the bold black and white declaration of the summary dissolution of her marriage, and the restoration of her name. 

He'd always been a spineless bastard. His surprising of her with divorce on their fourth anniversary had sent her into a six month tailspin. Everything she'd thought she'd wanted, everything she'd thought she'd worked for, he had taken - and then asked for a favor. As a friend, he'd said, help him host. He hadn't wanted to tell his friends yet. 

Well.

It looked like he would have to find someone else to make his pizza rolls now. 

She set the papers back in their place on the envelope and turned, her hand reaching out and sliding into Sabine's. A teasingly warm smile met her gaze and she couldn't restrain her answering grin.

"Evie?" Sabine's voice still sent a shudder down her spine. It had from the first time Ted had brought her over nearly two years ago. Now...now she could actually try and do something about it. 

"Let's roll."


End file.
